


Sick Leave

by ChillsofFire



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Kinda, Sickfic, cyber-cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 18:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20344729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillsofFire/pseuds/ChillsofFire
Summary: Optimus comes down with a cold, and, in an effort to not burden Ratchet with something so trivial, decides to take matters into his own servos. Ratchet does not agree with his decision.





	Sick Leave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brokenEisenglas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenEisenglas/gifts).

> This was a silly little thing [brokenEisenglas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenEisenglas/pseuds/brokenEisenglas) and I came up with when we were discussing headcanons about Optimus getting sick. It blossomed into a plot bunny, and neither of us could resist; go check out the art she made for it!!  
[Art here!](https://www.deviantart.com/brokeneisenglas/art/Tell-me-where-he-is--801385266)

It came suddenly, after the team had gone to bed, as the day began to end.

The dry itch in the back of his throat, the dull ache in his helm.

Optimus ignored it at first. Staring at the monitors, working endless hours on decoding the Iacon database tended to be tiring, and this wouldn’t have been the first time he’d gotten a headache from staring at a screen for too long.

The chill had been the biggest red flag, but he’d shrugged it off. It got cold in the desert, and while the temperatures in Nevada rarely became extreme enough to bother him or his team, they could still become uncomfortable. A quick adjustment to the heater, and he’d been fine.

Then the chill turned into a wave of heat; so extreme that his cooling fans clicked on despite the fact that he was doing nothing but standing, only his digits moving. That was when he knew.

Optimus cleared his throat, felt the itch turn into a bright spot of pain, and grimaced.

Of course. He only ever got sick when he could least afford to.

Luckily, Optimus had his own, personal routine down, perfected by millennia of practice. He shut down the monitors, turned off the heater that he no longer needed, and made his way to the medical bay.

Four cubes of medical grade energon, neatly stacked for ease of carrying. More might be required, but he always started with four. Eight out of ten times, it was enough. One cube of regular energon with a mixture of sleeping aids. Five packets of extra supplements, tucked neatly into his subspace.

Now for the hard part: hiding from Ratchet.

It seemed strange, the idea of hiding from his medic when he needed him. But Ratchet had more important things to focus on, had more than enough to keep him busy. A minor illness, something that would be gone in a few days time, was not something Optimus wanted to worry him with. And Ratchet would worry. He always did.

Right now, this, as the humans would call it, ‘cold’, or ‘flu’, was something Optimus could handle on his own, and had handled many, many times before. And until it became more than that, he would continue to handle it on his own.

He just had to find a place to tuck himself away, a place Ratchet wouldn’t think to look.

Optimus quietly moved further into the base, all but tiptoeing past the berthrooms. His own was, obviously, out of the question. The store room might have worked, it was mostly filled with old human technology that couldn’t be moved, but someone could stumble upon him. Even if Ratchet wasn’t the one to find him, the others wouldn’t be able to keep the secret. None of them could. Except for-

“Feeling a little under the weather, sir?”

Optimus froze, waiting for the cubes he held to still again before he slowly turned around.

Arcee raised her optic ridge, the faintest bit of a smile pulling at her mouth as she tried to hide her amusement.

“I am beginning to feel the early signs of a…cold,” Optimus admitted, trying to hold himself to his full height.

“Mhm. The usual routine then?”

“Please. It should only be for a day or two. The worst of it should be passed by then.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then I will go to Ratchet.”

Arcee nodded, “I’ll leave you to it, then. Good night, Optimus.”

“Good night, Arcee. Thank you.”

They turned to go their respective ways, Optimus needed to find a place quickly. The sooner he could get to sleep, the better.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Ratchet kept a close eye on his team. Injury, illness, weapon malfunction, they couldn’t afford it. They’d never been able to afford it, not since the war had started, but now, with the Iacon database in their possession, waiting to be decoded, they _really_ couldn’t afford it. The team was needed in the best health they could be in.

So Ratchet noticed the little things. Bumblebee, holding his left doorwing just slightly wrong, but how he was also still rubbing the sleep out of his optics. Stiff, probably slept on during the night. Nothing that required attention. Bulkhead, scratching at his knee joint for the fifth time in ten minutes. After a day of dune bashing with Miko. Probably a bucket of sand caked under his plating. He’d need to hose the joint out, but he’d be fine.

Optimus, suspiciously missing after being glued to the monitor for days. Missing, along with a handful of energon cubes and supplement packets.

_Primus’ sake…_

It was that time again. For the age old game that Ratchet was getting so. _Very. _Tired of.

Why, Primus, _why_ couldn’t Optimus just _stay in the base!?_

_Every time, Optimus. Every time!_

It never failed. Optimus got sick, and decided to take matters into his own hands. Never mind the medical bay fully stocked for these situations, never mind that Ratchet was ready and willing to treat whatever fell upon him. Even the Cybonic Plague now. So _why!?_

Ratchet shifted the medical grade cubes around, counting exactly how many were missing.

Four cubes, taken at two per day. If Optimus was only planning on hiding for two days, then he couldn’t be feeling too terrible. A mild virus, perhaps. Still, something that Ratchet should be monitoring. Just in case.

Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to, Ratchet couldn’t just take off to track Optimus down at the moment. Chores had to be divvied up, stock had to be taken, patrols had to be run, and Agent Fowler had to be briefed on their progress with the database.

_Which would be much easier if the mech working on it was around to talk to him!_

Ratchet pinched his nasal ridge and sighed. He’d keep the base organized, for now, but as soon as he had time, he was dragging Optimus back to the medical bay for a full check-up.

Optimus couldn’t hide forever.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

Ratchet grit his denta, the servo curled around the handle of his medical kit tightening until his knuckle joints ached, “Optimus, Arcee. Where is Optimus?”

“Why would I know?”

“Don’t play dumb! I know you know where he is!”

37 hours. Optimus had been missing for 37 hours, and Ratchet was getting more than a little frustrated. He’d combed the base from top to bottom, searching every berthroom, store room, crawl space, and rocky cavern. He’d tried using the computer to pinpoint Optimus’ location, but with no success. Optimus had been smart enough to block his own frequency.

None of the others knew anything. Ratchet had cornered them all, but none of them had any information to give. And since lying was something precisely none of them were good at, Ratchet believed what he heard.

Arcee, on the other hand, had helped Optimus during his ‘hideaways’ before.

“Tell me where he is, Arcee!”

“I don’t know what you mean, Ratch,” Arcee examined the tips of her digits. “I can’t help you.”

Ratchet swore he felt his optic twitch, “This isn’t funny, Arcee! He could be hurt! Or could be having complications! What if he gets worse!?”

“He would call you if he did,” Arcee smiled, one servo coming to rest on her hip. “He always comes back, Ratchet. You know he does this because he doesn’t want you fussing over him.”

Ratchet scoffed, “I do not _fuss!_”

“Really? You want to try to sell that lie to me?”

“I-…listen here-…you-!” Ratchet sputtered for a moment, struggling between denying Arcee’s claim and continuing to demand information from her. Her free servo fell to her other hip, and Ratchet finally settled on an indignant huff. “If he is not back here after 48 hours, you _will_ take me to him!”

“He’ll be back.”

“Arcee!”

“Fine! Alright, deal!”

Ratchet turned on his heel, servos gripped tight around his medical kit and an extra dose of medical grade energon. He cursed under his breath, muttering his way back to the medical bay.

_Optimus Prime when I get my servos on you!_

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Five miles south, tucked safely away inside a dry cavern, Optimus slept soundly. He lay sprawled on his stomach, head cushioned on his arms. Empty energon containers sat scattered around him; he’d not bothered to stack them neatly once he’d finished them, finding it easier to simply toss them aside before going back into recharge.

A tarp covered his lower body, graciously left by Arcee as she’d returned from dropping Jack at home the night before. He’d appreciated it, but as the chills began to fade, the trapped heat from his vents had started to build up uncomfortably. So the tarp has shifted, lower and lower, before coming to rest where it lay now.

Optimus coughed, just once, and not nearly as hard as he’d had the first night. His digits twitched, and one leg slowly folded up, bending at the knee as he shifted position.

He fell still quickly, never fully waking up.

There would be guilt later. For leaving the team. For worrying Ratchet. But Arcee had already told him she preferred it this way. That he needed to rest, to worry about himself. So he did not feel as bad as he might have otherwise. As for Ratchet…

There would be Pit to pay when he returned; of that he had no doubt.

But that was a concern for later, for when he returned to base healthy and prepared for Ratchet’s lecture.

For now, Optimus simply slept.


End file.
